


Three Simple Twists of Fate

by protisvit



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: 3 ways it could have gone and luckily didn't, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Azula hijacked this, Emotional Hurt, Fate is Groundhog Daying this until they get it right, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Mythology References, Mythology fusion, Temporary Character Death, The Last Agni Kai (Avatar), Unreliable Narrator, and now I have a lot of feelings about a sibling relationship that never got to be, i stopped writing to say ‘oh my god why am i doing this to myself’ out loud multiple times, liberal use of imagery, non linear narration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:54:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26290690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protisvit/pseuds/protisvit
Summary: Fate's first mistake lies in the lightening's path through Zuko's body and its second in its end in Katara's eyes.But the third mistake comes long before them, as Azula finally loses control.Each event creates ripples and changes everything that comes after.(Three ways the Final Agni Kai could have gone.)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	Three Simple Twists of Fate

If there is one thing that is true for everything in this world, it is that everything has a beginning -

_The Caldera is lit up blue, a distinct island in the sea of red that drenches the world surrounding it._

_Like in the centre of a candle, the flames here might not spread the widest, but they burn the hottest. Here the two dragons step in a deadly dance- one blue, on the background of the fiery red banners and old man in pointy crimson hats, and one red, backed by the cool blue tunic of an ocean born girl._

_Action-reaction. Attack and counter-attack. One step forward and one step back in perfect balance until- a slip, a stumble, a shout: “No lightning today? What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll redirect it?”_

_A pause._

_“I’ll show you lightening!”_

_The air around two pointed fingers crackles and radiant blue overtakes the scene._

a middle-

_Narrowed, golden eyes flash to the spot of blue in front of the red pillars and lightening cuts trough the air._

_A golden eye widens in realisation and two blue ones widen in shock._

_Blue reflects in blue and a boy runs._

_“NO!”_

_-_ and finally, an end.

_The lightening hits, a body falls._

_“ZUKO!”_

* * *

**The world is out of balance.**

The four nations have become three and the air temples sit empty on the mountain sides, like mussel shells on a waved washed rock, filled only with the dead bones of a civilisation reduced to ash and scattered in the wind.

_The warm orange and cheerful yellow colours fade first. Warmth and cheer is always the first to go, the sisters know. They have seen it before, many times again and again._

_They continue their work, the colours will rise again soon. Human lives are short and their cruelty does not last long enough for disturb the balance._

_But the colours do not reappear this time._

The water benders of the Southern Water Tribe have been lost to the bottomless sea of war and their kinsman in the North have drawn back from the world with the tide.

Even the vast, unmovable Earth Kingdom is crumbling, slowly turning to dust under the weight of this war.

_There is less blue mingled together with the other hues now and most green shades have turned grey in stagnation, far removed from the fresh breath of spring and life they once held._

And the Fire Nation is burning the world and itself with it.

_But red, red, red everywhere. Blood on the tapestry, fire consuming fabric until nothing but grey ash will be left- the ultimate mingling of the world’s many colours._

**The world is out of balance.**

The people know it, but they have long since become accustomed to the fear in the air as one adjusts to the lack of oxygen in high altitudes.

It seems so hard to catch your breath in the beginning, but as time goes by you stop noticing there is something wrong. Your children are born without ever knowing that air could taste of freedom.

Uncertainty has become the only thing to be relied upon and the scales of loss and gain lie tipped on one side.

**The world is out of balance.** No one realises how much.

No one can see how thin the strands of fate have been stretched and how faded the colours on the tapestry of the world really are. The picture, that paints their daily life and joy and grief and all the quiet moments in between, has dimmed, as the never ending war has dulled their senses and stamped out their desires. Days have become grey and slowly grow darker and survival is the only goal most can strive for.

Not even our heroes, not even the Avatar himself knows how close their own threads came to snapping and they shall never know they did.

The spirits grow nervous, they sense the thinning of reality, but they do not understand it.Not even they can see how the delicate fibres of existence are being rearranged and remade,in that far away place behind either of their worlds.

There, in the vast emptiness between the stars, where no light can reach and no sound be heard, sit the weavers and twist fleeting fibres of chance into the threads of destiny with which they will stitch the Great Picture only they can see.

(They weavers themselves have no name but they are called many.)

But for the last hundred years their tapestry has been thinning, the colours fading and now even their stitches are becoming unsure. They see the rich, vibrant picture of the world as it shall become after this war, but the way to it has been nearly lost to the all consuming darkness engulfing them.

The crucial points are nearly translucent now and the threads holding them together are still newly formed, hastily hardened only by necessity and not made to withstand the great pull coming from every direction.

Stitching the picture of reality is delicate work, and while the sisters were made for this task, they are not infallible. A stitch might be placed a bit too far or too close or a thread might fray.

It does not happen often and in a balanced world the picture will adjust itself accordingly, but now that the tapestry is already worn so thin, one mistake might tear a hole into the fabric of reality itself. Sīmìng knows this and they are watchful.

On this day they must create the only way that will lead to a balance restored.

The Avatar, as small and young as he is, can not be easily removed, his strand being so interwoven that, even after being cut, it had been upheld by its own entanglement long enough to be renewed before it could be lost forever to the void.

Today his glow brightens the colours around him and in the stars the world’s fate shall finally be returned to its long desired image.

But to achieve this, one strand is to be cut today.

_(“Have you measured, sister?”_

They have no names but sometimes they are called shū, who spins thread and her sisters are waku, who measures, and setsu, who cuts.

_“Yes, sister. It is time.”)_

But before the strike falls the picture changes and the thread remains.

(The Air Nomads believe that Fate’s weavers are all of us, weaving our own thread and stitching our image into the fabric of the world through our actions alone. )

To accommodate it the threads around it have to adjust, and for a little while their places are precarious. Often a little while is enough.

* * *

Every failure has a beginning, a middle and an end- though not necessarily in that order.

 **Fate’s first mistake** is made in the middle that is formed by the lightening’s path as it runs through the prince’s body.

(To the chest - hold- through the stomach- no ground to release- a fall- release through the arm.

That is the picture they must stitch.)

_Zuko jumps, holding his sister’s lightening close to his chest, cradling the spiderweb of energy against his chest -_

(On the South Pole, where the sky is not coloured red an old woman sees a shooting star. For the people of the Water Tribes it is the the stars themselves that paint the world’s path into the sky, because on the cold, clear polar nights the tapestry’s colours might bleed through, and other times one can see the reflection of Fate’s needle flashing brightly through the darkness. )

_To the chest - hold- through the stomach- no ground to release- no ground no ground - the heart is the path of least resistance._

_The prince is dead before he hits the ground._

(This is the picture they have made.)

_“ZUKO!”_

_“Zuzu, you don’t look so good!”_

The scene plays out similar. There is a fight and there is a winner and if the Waterbender’s scream is a bit more desperate, her fighting a bit more hateful, and if Azula’s cries turn a bit more hysterical when her brother remains motionless on the ground, then those are just different hues of the same colour.

But the mistake stretches further and suddenly the sisters see this new path clearly before them.

_Tears. So many tears in a courtyard, loud and quiet, for a friend, for a brother and oneself._

_‘What is it about me that brings only death to everyone I love?’_

_A war balloon lands in front of the palace, exited by a group of children and a grey haired man, tired but smiling widely, an air of victory around them._

_They are greeted by the lonely figure of a girl, small and hesitant in her grief._

_“Where’s Zuko?”_

_Katara remembers the day of the Fire Nation raid when Sokka came back to their house, asking ‘Where’s mum?’ and she had no answer and once again it is her fault, her, her always her._

_The silence that is answer enough brings the man to his knees._

_He is old, the children suddenly realise._

_Katara thinks of her mother and her friend._

_An uncle is kneeling by his nephew’s side. The boy is still, colder than a Firebender should ever be, his red scar and black hair a shocking contrast to his unnaturally pale skin._

_The room smells of incense and a candle flickers calmly next to the bed, undisturbed by any emotional turmoil in a way it never would have been had the boy still been breathing._

_His uncle had many long years to master his inner fire and he knows the importance of not disturbing the light that will guide his nephew to the next realm._

_“Agni,” the old man whispers “I know my sins have been great, but why do_ **_they_ ** _have to pay for them?”_

_He raises his head, so that his eyes are now at level with his nephew’s face. The unmarred side is turned towards him, making him look like the shy, wide-eyed boy he had been only a little while ago._

_“Agni,” he repeats, a prayer this time “Keep him safe, since I could not.”_

_His eyes never leave the still face as he adds: “Keep them both safe.”_

_And then, very softly, like a father trying not to wake his sleeping son, he begins to sing._

_“Long Live Fire Lord Iroh!”_

_The Fire Sages place the crown in Iroh’s top knot and a tear rolls down a girl’s cheek cheek._

_’This isn’t right. This isn’t how it was supposed to end,’ her eyes scream, reflecting the grim set of her brother’s jaw and his hard grip on her shoulder._

_She brushes off his hand and steps away from him. She will not allow him to get hurt, too. Not him and not anyone._

_Katara has made a promise to herself._

_The new Fire Lords remains solemn as he thanks the Avatar and his friends for restoring balance and promises to usher in a new era of peace. The people cheer, but a small group of friends cannot shake the feeling that there is something important missing from that promise._

_But it is too hard to speak of love at this moment._

_The peace talks are difficult and slow-going. Not everyone is happy with the Dragon of the West becoming the new Fire Lord. In fact, most aren’t, especially the people of the Earth Kingdom._

_Iroh might have helped retake Ba Sing Se in the end, but what is that one day compared to 600 days of suffering under his siege?_

_What is one city, compared to the countless towns and villages that were razed to the ground under his command?_

_The new Fire Lord has old blood on his hands and they will not let him forget it._

_Even in the Fire Nation, there are those who want the new emperor gone. After the reconquering of Ba Sing Se whispers about a secret organisation called “The White Lotus” emerge, a global conspiracy of the most powerful men in this world, pulling the strings behind every major political event and their new Fire Lord is their leader!_

_How can they trust him to be loyal to the Fire Nation?_

_The war may be over but the world stays a dangerous place, especially for those travelling alone._

_But Katara has sworn not to risk anyone’s life for her safety ever again and she stands by that._

_The last Waterbending Master of the Southern Water Tribe dies young and surrounded._

_Iroh is tired. Not of his years, but of grief and love and loss, and of this world in which the young and innocent die for the old and guilty to survive._

_He works hard, but not with the fervour of a man building his future and instead with the guilt of one trying to make up for his past. He finds no joy in it, it will never be his world that he is creating, but he knows he owes it to his nephew to at least try, to make this new world for the rag tag group of friends he had grown to care for so much he had laid down his life for one of them. He works because he cannot let down his nephew, who had always had so much faith in him, again._

_The peace seems carefully stable when he finally lies down to rest._

_There is no heir and it is the only selfish decision he had allowed himself to make, against his advisors’ and even his friends’ many insistences. He understands the risk, the foolishness of his refusal, but he cannot bring himself to love another child._

_The war may be over but the world stays a dangerous place and he cannot lead another lamb to slaughter._

_He hopes, that even so his efforts will have been enough._

_They aren’t, of course._

Sīmìng watches and shakes their heads- and starts again.

* * *

**Fate’s second mistake** lies where the lightening ends.

_It finds its target in frightened eyes that shine blue with its reflection._

_Blue, like water that conducts electricity so easily and welcomes its own demise without resistance or hesitation._

_A blue, so close in tint but so far from the cool, gentle waves that have been replaced by hard edges and blinding heat._

_She stands no chance, that wide eyed girl, as she is engulfed by that same blue for an endless moment that seems like a life- and it is, it is her life, or all that is left of it- and then falls._

_Silence follows, before the thunder that comes in the form of a great roar bathed in pain and anger and helplessness._

_The lightning has hit its mark and the world is lit on fire._

_(Azula is too close, too distracted celebrating her perceived victory in her fragile mind to escape the sudden inferno.)_

_Again a group of people arrives and again they are greeted by a single figure._

_Again there is no answer to the question “Where’s Katara?” but no silence, only a name, a plea for forgiveness spoken in strangled desperation: “Sokka…”_

_Her brother nearly falls over his injured leg multiple times as he runs._

_But again he is too late._

_‘And now, when I try to remember my mom, Katara's is the only face I can picture.’_

_True again._

_“Where’s your sister?!”_

_“Sokka…”_

_“Shut up, Aang!” Sokka snaps and pushes Zuko hard against the wall. “Where. is. your. sister?_

_“It’s too late.” the boy in his grip only answers._

_“How can you PROTECT her after this?!”_

_“I’m not,” Zuko says and his voice doesn’t seem to be his own. “But you’re too late. Azula’s dead._

_I killed her.”_

_Sokka stares at him like he’s never seen his friend before._

_Zuko locks away his emotions until he doesn’t notice they are there anymore._

_(He loved and when he lost he hurt and by hurting he had lost control so badly he had killed his own sister. Emotions are too dangerous for someone like him.)_

_It works._

_‘He is just,’ the people celebrate, ‘he is polite,’ delight his servants, ‘he is firm,’ rejoice the politicians._

_‘He is ruthless,’ his enemies shudder._

_‘He is numb,’ is what they should say._

_It’s funny that after all those years of Ozai’s abuse and Azula’s mockery it had taken him love to become the hard ruler they had wanted him to be._

_He still strives for peace, but peace without love is only a break between wars._

_Toph is the only one Zuko believes when she tells him she does not blame him for what happened. She does not say it often, emotional conversations are not something any of them are good at, but she lets her actions speak for herself._

_She visits regularly, if not frequently, establishing trade connections between her family’s associates and Fire Nation merchants. He can see how she dislikes the people she deals with, and he knows, perhaps before she does, that she will not keep playing this game forever._

_But for now she is a fierce businesswoman and his country’s war focused economy starts to recover._

_He wishes he could feel grateful._

_When Suki offers to head a group of Kyoshi warriors to be his personal guard, Zuko catches the unease that flickers over Sokka’s face and declines immediately._

_He will not rip another beloved girl from his friend’s life._

_Suki only smiles sadly at him and gently squeezes his arm before she leaves._

_He thinks she might understand and wishes he could feel comforted._

_Sokka does not visit often and when he does, he comes as a representative of the Southern Water Tribe. His father, he reveals when they sit together by the turtle duck pond one evening, does not wish to set foot on Fire Nation soil ever again._

_‘He prefers to stay where he can be reminded of Katara,’ he explains._

_‘But not of her death’ is what he does not say out loud._

_Zuko asks him then if he blames him for not protecting his sister. Sokka denies it, but Zuko knows that not wanting to feel something and not feeling something are two very different things._

_He wishes he could guilty._

_His uncle does not return to his tea shop. Zuko knows he worries about him, but every time they sit down for tea together he cannot help but think of the last time they had all sat around a fire, steaming cups in their hands and his uncle urging him not to go alone._

_He had agreed and doomed Katara without hesitation._

_He wishes he could have gone alone._

_He visits his father in his cell exactly once. He seems sunken, smaller than he remembers him to be. He looks as empty as Zuko feels and he leaves before he finds more similarities between them._

_He doesn’t ask about his mother._

_The Southern Water Tribe is still decimated and the Air Nomads are still gone, but the Earth Kingdom, through their new economic ties to the Fire Nation, thrives._

(The people of the Earth Kingdom call the weavers Sīmìng, the Master and controller of Fate and they too place them in the stars. )

_“You don’t get to tell me how to do my job! Don’t tell me how to protect the world, if you couldn’t even protect one girl!”_

_It had been a trying day, filled with seemingly endless meetings with representatives of all four nations (or what was left of them) and in retrospect Zuko admits he probably could have chosen his words more wisely. But it had been such a long time since he he had placed consideration of someone’s feelings over practicality. Even so, he knows he has pushed Aang too far even before the words explode into his face._

_For a moment Zuko wishes he could feel offended at the implication, but Aang is right._

_Except that he failed to protect two girls, not one. But he will not mention that._

_The Avatar continues to wander the world aimlessly until his end, unattached to earthly concerns. A true Air Nomad and the last of them._

The tapestry rips where a bright orange thread had been supposed to hold it together.

The sisters get to work.

* * *

Every failure has a beginning. And in this particular one lies **Fate’s third** and final mistake. 

(And also it’s cruelest, for it is allowed to persist the longest.)

_“I’ll show you lightening!”_

_Azula is wild. Her hair hangs in uneven chops around her face and her eyes dart around the arena like a caged animal’s, flickering from one spot to another, blazing with uncontrolled fire._

_A volcano ready to erupt under their feet._

_She sees her brother across from her, his expression focused but calm, a mockery of that same control that always made her superior to him._

_Behind him, a slim, female figure with long dark hair steps out from behind a pillar and Azula knows immediately who that is. Who it has to be. Always behind Zuko, always in his corner, silently watching, protecting,_ **_loving._ **

_Azula does not recognise the colour of her dress but she recognises the expression on her face. Worry and fear. Something for each of her children. Azula never got to pick which one she would have preferred, but she is not about to complain about which was dealt to her._

_She is lucky, after all. And if that means that being feared has been the lucky lot, she will drive it to perfection like she always does._

_She can feel the tips of her fingers burn as the lightening forms around them. That is new, she realises, that has never happened before. But it is good, it must mean her lightening will be even stronger today, even faster and there will be nowhere to run._

_But it is not enough, she needs more, more, she wants her mother to fear her like she never feared anything in her life._

_To fear her more than she ever feared for Zuko._

_It is intoxicating, and Azula laughs as the air around her turns blue and the blood red sky gives way to the blinding, raw energy surrounding her. She can feel the comet burning in her veins, stronger and stronger and even more lightening starts to form around her._

_She sees her brother shouting something and there is fear in his eyes._

_‘Good,’ Azula thinks. ‘Excellent.’_

_Zuko starts running towards her as she lifts her arm, the lightening dancing wildly, far from her usual calm, precise lines. He is shouting something but Azula cannot hear over the static crackling in her ears. Again her gaze focuses on the woman behind him and she cackles loudly._

_“Poor Zuzu,” she shouts to her brother, “looks like mother’s last memory won’t be of you after all!”_

_This stops him in his tracks and with a triumphant smile Azula lets go._

_The world explodes with blue._

_When Azula wakes for the last time she can see gold on a sea of red, the comet making its way across the sky above._

_Blink_

_The comet is gone but the gold is still there. Her brother’s eyes, she realises._

_Blink_

_She can smell ozone in the air. Something else, too, faintly. Something familiar she cannot quite place. How long has it been since her brother has been that close?_

_Blink_

_Her eyelids are heavy. Heavier than the entirety of the body she can’t feel. There is a hand on her cheek._

_Blink_

_Something cool touches her chest and blue light surrounds her yet again. It’s not hot enough, she thinks. Blue flames should be much hotter and lightening even more so. The light wanes._

_Blink_

_Something wet hits the corner of her mouth. She struggles to focus. Could it be rain? Possibly, judging by the lightening and the thunderous crack she had heard before._

_Blink_

_Zuko is crying and her mother isn’t comforting him, so she must have succeeded._

_‘If I don’t get to have a mother then neither do you,’ rings hollow even in her own mind._

_Blink_

_Azula’s lips twitch into what she hopes is a mocking smile, but she is so tired she is not sure her muscles follow her orders. Perhaps it is just a smile. Perhaps it is nothing._

_She moves her lips soundlessly and her brother leans closer._

_Blink_

_“I win.”, she whispers._

_‘You cannot beat me. Nobody can,’ she wants to add but it is too many words for right now. Tomorrow, tomorrow she will tell him, but right now she is so tired she just wants to sleep. It must have been the sheer amount of lightening she created. The energy she poured into it must come from somewhere._

_Blink_

_The sky over her is growing darker by the second. ‘The comet must be gone now, too,’ she thinks, ’that’s why I’m so tired.’_

_Blink_

_‘Strange. I always thought there were more stars.’_

_Her eyes close._

“ **No.** ” Behind those stars the young girl cannot see anymore a soundless voice speaks.

(The citizen of the Fire Nation search for the weavers in the dark of the night and call them her daughters. One to spin, one to measure and one to cut.)

“The threat I wove was not supposed to unravel here. This end should have been her beginning. This is wrong.” the spinner says.

“Right or wrong.”, her sisters answer “We have all the threads we need to weave the picture of balance now.”

“Her end should have been her beginning,” the spinner laments again but does not protest any longer.

The end as a beginning, that is the unspoken rule of this universe, the only rule the sisters abide by. They themselves exist through it, as one and three, divided as shū, waku and setsu but in a balanced world they are one, they are Sīmìng. The more this balance wanes, the more they are torn apart and by being split lose their understanding of each other.

Sīmìng does not make mistakes. Sīmìng is the path written in the cosmos, but alone, shū, waku and setsu do not always see the pattern clearly enough.

So shū’s thread unravels but her sisters continue weaving.

And it seems to be working. The world is at peace and the tapestry is gaining colour and strength again.

However, one thread is still missing and slowly, piece by piece the little imperfections of this world pile up until Yin and Yang finally lose their balance from within.

_“Where is my mother?”_

_“And why should I tell you that?”_

_“Because you have already lost and there is no point in protecting this knowledge any longer. Because you will spend the rest of your life in this cell, and one day you might realise that you will want to ask for forgiveness for everything you have done. This would be a good start.”_

_“Is that supposed to convince me?” the prisoner only jeers, “And here I thought you were finally starting to take after me.”_

_“I am nothing like you.”_

_“Are you not? And yet I removed my brother from the line of succession and you killed your sister for it. You are much more like me than we both thought.”_

_A cruel grin appears on Ozai’s face.“I am proud of you, Zuko.”_

_His son’s face pales and he takes a step back._

_“You have finally shown the strength and determination you so tragically lacked during most of your life. And for that I think you should be rewarded.”_

_Zuko knows he should leave, he knows nothing good will come of this,_ _he knows._ _And yet he stays._

_“I will tell you where your mother is, Fire Lord.” The title comes out a mockery, a taunt as Ozais mad sneer only becomes more pronounced under the greasy strands of hair that hang unevenly around his face._

_(Uneven, like Azula’s had been on her last day._

_Zuko had fixed her hair himself, before the funeral. He had not cut it, a servant had done that, he would have only made a mess of it and his sister had always hated being messy. But he had brushed her long, dark hair until it shone, the same way he had done when they were small and his sister had called him Zuzu with adoration, instead of contempt._

_It had been as soft as he remembered under his hesitant fingers, so much softer than his own. It had been mother’s hair, silky but strong and the only soft part about Azula._

_And also the first part of her to burn._

_As tradition dictates Zuko had stood watch as his sister’s ash had been collected and placed in a red and golden amphora. As tradition dictates, but also because he had not been able to resist the morbid need to touch the little heap of grey that had once been his perfect, unbeatable, little sister and feel if it, too, would be soft. )_

_Perhaps his father is right and they are more similar to each other than he had thought, because he thinks the same thing that comes out of Ozai’s mouth only moments later._

_“I will tell you, so you can inform her of what happened to her daughter.”_

_Zuko stumbles out of the cell._

_Katara does not stay long in the Fire Nation. She cannot, because every girl she sees is pale and dark haired and sometimes golden eyed and dressed in red. Every girl is Azula._

_But not the ruthless hunter that tracked them through the Earth Kingdom or the mad princess that challenged her brother to a duel to the death, but the fifteen year old girl that had lain before her with wide eyes and a stunned expression on her face, uncomprehending of what had just happened to her._

_Azula had laughed just before she had died and maybe it had supposed to have been cruel, but her strength had nearly left her by then and it had come out soft and breathy, and it had suddenly hit Katara that that must be what Azula sounded like without her ever present mockery._

_With her facade gone, Azula had sounded like a girl._

_And she had sat there and watched her die._

_She had tried to heal her at first, of course she had, but feeling the extent of the burns inside the small body had made her lower her hands almost immediately. Small, that’s how she had seemed and Katara had wondered, back to back, would she have even been taller than herself? They were the same age, but Azula’s confidence and sheer power and Katara’s fear of her had always made her seemingly tower over all of them, the teenage girl hidden behind walls of blue fire and lightening._

_It had been reflexive, shock over the sheer amount of damage that had made Katara remove her hands at first, but it had been a decision that had stayed them in her lap for good._

_She had never been one to give up, even with Aang dead in her arms she had found a way. Granted, she had had no spirit water at her disposal this time but she was a Waterbending Master, a teenager who had beat the best waterbender of the Northern Water Tribe before having been formally trained, who could bloodbend even without a full moon to amplify her powers._

_If she had truly wanted to, she would have found a way, wouldn’t she?_

_But Azula had been the enemy and the world was better off without her._

_Even if Zuko’s quiet tears and shaking hands did not make it feel like it._

_The more time passed and the further the war lay behind them, the more she wondered._

_Had it really been impossible to save Azula? Or had Katara chosen to let her die?_

There is always another road when we look back over our shoulder. Even if it is just our own path in disguise.

_The Fire Nation is in unrest, Zuko knows this. He has heard the whispers of the so called “Phoenix forces” who long to put his father back on the throne. He has seen the hateful faces in the crowds. There aren’t many of them yet, but they are always there._

_And the assassination attempts speak for themselves._

_He tries his best, but his people are divided into those who have been made weary by the war and those who miss it. The latter are easier to deal with, he thinks. They despise him for something he knows was right, loyalists to his father, dangerous but still few in number, a clear threat to neutralise. It is the others that worry him. The many of his people who want him to be the solution, who want to trust him but who still whisper:_

_“He has killed his sister for the throne. Is he really better than his father?”_

_“If he really wants to bring about a new era, why has he never denounced her like he did his father? If he cares so much how could he kill her? What kind of person could do that?”_

_“I heard it was an accident, she lost control-“_

_“Princess Azula? Don’t be ridiculous.That’s the most transparent lie I’ve ever heard. He’s trying to cover something up, I tell you.”_

_“A fifteen year old girl! Shame!”_

_“They say she went mad in the end.”_

_“Even worse! She should never have been allowed to fight!”_

_Zuko wants to defend himself, he wants to scream from the palace roof that he didn’t mean it, he didn’t want to kill her, she had been his sister and he had loved her._

_But it’s no good, because it is not the people he wants to hear his pleas._

_He had known she would take the bait. He had seen how unstable she had become and he had decided to use it to his advantage. ‘Are you proud of me now, Lala?’ he thinks ‘Like father says he is, now that I’ve shown that I’m the same as you? And yet here I am, being hailed a hero, but it was never me, was it? It was only those around me. Uncle and Aang and Katara and all the others, who have always pushed me to do better._

_They have made me a hero when they gave me a chance._

_Who did you have, Azula? Who would have given you a chance? Not me, I only took it away from you.’_

There is a reason why only dead people become saints and why ‘could have been’ are the most dangerous three words there are.

_Katara can hardly look at Aang these days._

_This pure boy, this good man who chose not take a life even when the whole world demanded it from him. He doesn’t understand. “There is nothing you could have done,” he keeps saying and_ _she wants to answer, to scream: “But I could have tried!”_

_But she only ever nods and when he looks at her with those innocent, adoring eyes, she wants to tear off her own skin so he can see the disgusting darkness inside her._

_She can hardly look at him but even worse, she cannot stand him to look at her, so one day she makes sure he never will again._

_Like so many friends and wives and mothers throughout that endless war, she disappears._

_When Zuko’s reign finally falls he does not fight. It is his family’s fate and he had expected to die long ago._

The stars go dark and the spinner finally says ‘Enough’ and unravels the flawed tapestry at last. 

It is the hardest of their interventions but she is stronger than her sisters. She is the beginning and would they not be one and the same, she would be the oldest.

‘My thread is not supposed to unravel,’ she proclaims and grips the strand tighter. ‘This end will be her beginning.’

The new thread is still rough and fraying but it will hold. They all will, they all must, if reality shall be allowed to persist. It is hard work but each one of them is a master of their craft and together Sīmìng mends the tapestry of this world until all that is left of their earlier mistakes is a star shaped scar on a young man’s chest.

Fate is not written in stone after all. It is woven between the stars and sometimes, only sometimes, it may allow to be readjusted.

**Author's Note:**

> Take from my notes:
> 
> "Something wet hits the corner of her mouth*. [...] Zuko is crying" 
> 
> * 'relatives moisten the dying or deceased person's lips with water, a practice known as water of the last moment' (wikipedia on Japanese funeral customs) :) 
> 
> If you are wondering, yes, writing this hurt me about as much as you probably think.
> 
> I really hope this is not too confusing, I do admit the whole Fate interludes got a bit out of hand. Not to mention that when I say "mythology fusion" in the tags I mean I put a lot of mythology into a blender and tried not to give myself a headache trying to understand my own concepts. Plus, I unfortunately hardly know anything about any kind of Asian mythology and used pretty much wikipedia and a Japanese translation website for most background "research" so if anything is weird I apologise.
> 
> 'Beta read' only by myself so let's hope this isn't riddled by mistakes.
> 
> Anyway I hope you enjoyed and I live and breathe for kudos and comments! :)


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